


Red Mists of Battle

by flyingfanatic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Smut, some mild kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingfanatic/pseuds/flyingfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa angry is a glorious and hot thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Mists of Battle

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at flyingfanaticfics

Battlefields are not still. Even after the fight is over and the rage and push and sweat has lifted, there is still movement. Healers try to tend to the injured and dying. Limping warriors search in vain for friends that never rallied with them. Others search for good steel that cannot be wasted. Clarke picks her way through them all in search of the one thing that is still.

Lexa.

From a slight rise Heda stares out in the direction her enemy had fled. The only things near her that move are the slight flutter of her cloak in the breeze and the steady drip of blood from her sword, still gripped tightly in one hand. Despite the long, hard fighting she had charged straight in to the middle of her back is a ramrod of strength.

Clarke steps slowly up to stand next to her.

The normally meticulous black mask on Lexa’s face has faded and run in paths of sweat or been smeared over with the blood of the fallen. In places her armour and clothing is ripped from the lucky blows of others, but Heda fought with fury today and none drove home.

For several minutes they stand, side by side, but Heda does not acknowledge the presence of another. Behind what seem like locked eyes the fight replays blow for blow, and the future stretches ahead with brutal calculation.

Finally she turns away from Clarke and strides steadily across the mud, cloak sweeping out behind her over the bodies of enemy and fallen subject alike. From the bluff Clarke watches as she approaches her tent. Heda pauses just outside the entrance and turns back to Clarke, meeting her eyes for a moment before lifting her sword and driving it point first in to the ground where it stays, quivering, while the Commander leads her warlords inside.

It’s not until she begins to hear yelling from inside the war conference that Clarke leaves the arm she’s bandaging and walks inside. The grounder warriors are still tense in Clarke’s presence but as Lexa has one of them backed against a supporting pole with nothing but sheer rage, she doubts they will notice.

“You dare stand to one side while I win your battles for you and then challenge me!” Lexa spits at him. “Get out. All of you!”

Clarke ignores the resentful glances shot her way by some of the retreating war lords. They can’t touch her. Even Lexa’s flashing glare does not stop her stepping forward until she is forced to stop pacing and confront Clarke.

Now Clarke’s steady and pushing back against the dam of fury and it’s making Lexa quiver with barely controlled violence. It all spills over when one eyebrow rises up in challenge and suddenly Lexa is nothing but fight again.

One hand snaps out with alarming speed to close around Clarke’s neck, gripping hard enough to cause pain as she’s forced towards the war table and down on it, face first. As always Clarke fights back, attempts to reach behind her and twist Lexa off her.

This time, with the adrenaline still running hot, Lexa wins easily and soon has Clarke pinned, hips holding her ass flush against the wood, hand still on her neck and mouth close to her ear.

The heavy breath of Lexa’s exertion echoes Clarke’s and she cannot help but groan at the thought of the force being used to hold her down. Slowly, Lexa lifts her body up so she can look down and admire the sight of Clarke made prostrate. With her free hand she manages to wrestle her belt off and catches Clarke’s hands, binding her wrists together behind her back.

“No pushing back before I’m finished with you.”

Clarke just grunts in response and tests the strength of the improvised restraint. No good – Lexa would notice by the time she got free. Once she’s satisfied that Clarke will stay where she’s put, Lexa bucks once against her ass then undoes and pulls down her trousers with impatient, rapid jerks.

A sharp tap against one shin tells Clarke to step out of the clothes before they’re kicked across the room.

A heavy boot kicks her legs in to a wider stance.

Clarke moves to lift her head again and Lexa’s hand slams it back down, making Clarke taste iron. The other hand scratches up the inside of Clarke’s thigh and then roughly pushes a finger into her. With a rough grunt Clarke bites her lip and tastes blood again, not willing to reward Lexa with noises yet.

A few swift pumps of the single finger, however, and Clarke is soon ready for two. No matter how much she fights physically, they both know what Heda does to her.

Lexa twists her hand up so she can jam the force of her hips behind it, and fucks Clarke hard against the table. At first Clarke manages to just grunt with every forward thrust but soon Lexa has her panting hard against the surface of the table and wishing she had her hands free so she could brace back properly against Lexa’s fingers.

Instead she’s relatively powerless, just as Lexa had intended, to fuck in to a quivering mess.


End file.
